10
Time had passed, eventually, as Time had a tendency of doing. Harry had settled into life at Hogwarts, becoming more ingrained in its ways, its secrets and its routines, as had his friends. To Harry's joy if not his surprise, the Jedi Academy Dumbledore had started seemed to be working wonders for the students. So much so that Neville Longbottom had stopped stammering, Seamus Finnigan had gained sufficient patience to not blow up - well, everything, and even Draco Malfoy's large ego had shrunk - a fraction.
Right now, Harry was meditating. He liked meditating. It was a bit more relaxing than regular sleep, and in some ways more helpful. He could occasionally see glimpses of the future when meditating. Not that it ever helped him much, and he was always careful about precisely how literally he took the visions he had, but it was nice to know the Force was with him to that degree.
He fell deeper into the meditation, and let his mind wander the castle. He saw Hermione and Ron practicing their lightsaber duelling downstairs, and he unconsciously egged them on, pleased at their progress. Ron and Hermione had come a long way now; nowhere near the standards that traditionalist Jedi would have held themselves to at their age, but they were still fairly good.
As he continued on his mental wanderings, Harry noticed the petulant little brat Malfoy from Slytherin, wandering around like a fool. The boy was, even after Jedi training, still elitist and prideful, but rather than dislike him, all Harry felt for him was pity – pity that a mind was wasted like it was. He seemed to be restless for some reason, but Harry neither knew nor cared why at this time - this would prove to be a mistake, in future, but Harry couldn't know that now.
And then, as his mind wandered some more, he saw something he could honestly say he did not expect. Professor Quirrell was running about on the third floor – in the forbidden corridor?
'How strange,' Harry thought. What reason did he have to be down there? Harry pushed himself deeper, searching out the reason behind this odd behaviour, and found himself dumbfounded by what he sensed. The man was shrouded by some kind of magical concealment, and it took a couple of minutes for Harry to push past it, but when he did he was glad he had.
There was another presence with Quirrell in the corridor. An evil one for certain. A familiar one as well - it felt like an old pain returning to Harry's attention after years. This presence stank of the Dark Side. What was it?
After a long moment of denial, Harry realised who it must be. He blanched and quickly retreated from the meditation, eyes snapping open and breath coming in quick starts. He felt more terrified than he should have done but, from what he knew of his foe, he had a right to be.
Quirrell was nothing more than a host, a host for the most evil being - he didn't really have the right to be called a man - who had ever lived in this reality…
The Dark Lord Voldemort.
As soon as he had put a name to the feeling, Harry had bolted down the stairs to the dormitory, where his friends were still practicing their duelling. Sweat covered his face and his expression was one of extreme panic, quite unlike his usually serene demeanour. Ron and Hermione didn't notice him at first. The borrowed training lightsaber's they wielded flashed, blocking the simple spells that Castor was managing to shoot at them, while Kara stood by and watched appreciatively.
Normally, Harry would have found time to feel pride at their progress, but there was no time; he knew that there was no time. They had to move quickly.
"Castor, Kara, Voldemort is in the school!" he was yelling, manically. Looking at their friend in shock, the two trainees deactivated their sabres, and Castor and Ron ran over to Harry.
"Calm down, Harry!" said Ron, holding him steady. He'd never seen Harry panicking before, the young Jedi who was usually such a pillar of calm. But now he was trembling almost... "What's wrong?"
"Voldemort is in the school," Harry repeated, slowly this time. "The third floor, forbidden corridor…"
Ron looked terrified, his eyes widening to windows of terror on his face. Hermione didn't exactly looked enthused either. Kara looked less worried, but still pretty concerned. Castor however, was confused.
"What?" the young Jedi said, looking perplexed. "Isn't that the dark wizard you defeated when you were a baby?"
"Yes," Harry confirmed, nodding quickly.
"But he's dead," Castor pointed out, perplexed. "You killed him somehow."
"He is here, Castor," Harry insisted, looking at his friend with what he hoped was convincing sincerity. Ron moaned in shock. "I don't know how, but he is. He's possessing Professor Quirrell somehow."
"Like a ghost?" Hermione asked, frowning. She had heard of possession but never of this sort.
"I don't know!" Harry said, a note of desperation in his tone now. Kara was looking at him with concern in her eyes and right now Harry couldn't blame her. She had never seen Harry this worried. None of them had. But he had to worry!
"Does it matter?" Ron said, his voice trembling. "What are we gonna do?"
"What does he want in Hogwarts?" Castor asked, ignoring Ron's question. The young Jedi initiate was confused by this turn of events. "What could possibly be here that he wants?"
Harry shook his head – he couldn't tell, although whatever it was it had to be something powerful. Kara looked at Harry for a moment, studying the worry on his face, and then her face took on a resolute expression.
"Come on," she said, simply. "Let's go stop him!"
This garnered an immediate reaction from Ron, who stared at her as she she had just gone insane.
"Are you brain dead?" he yelled. Ignoring the harsh looks from the others, he went on. "This is You-Know-Who we're talking about! He's the single most powerful wizard in the bloody world, apart from Dumbledore!"
"Relax, Ron," said Hermione soothingly, trying to calm him down. "Dumbledore's still here, isn't he? We can get him –"
But Harry was shaking his head – the Force told him the old wizard was nowhere in the castle. "He isn't here," the young Jedi reported grimly. "I can't sense him."
"You-Know-Who's here, and Dumbledore isn't?" said Ron faintly, his voice barely more than a whisper. The red head was now close to panicking himself. He started shaking his head, eyes trying to get even wider with fear, and in that moment Harry glimpsed Voldemort's strength - everyone feared him. It was why they referred to him as You-Know-Who. He calmed himself, focusing on his training and trying to force his own panic down.
"We can stop him," said Castor, taking his sabre out of his robes with a resolute expression. "We can beat him."
Harry nodded, solemnly. His fear had subsided, and now there was only the him knowledge of what they had to do - or try to do.
"We've no choice," he said after a moment, looking at Ron and putting his hand on his friend's shoulder. "Whatever he wants, it must be important. He can't be allowed to get it."
"I'm in," Hermione put in, lightsaber inactive in her hand.
Ron put his head in his hands, and Harry sensed him wrestling with his fear and worry. He and the others waited for the young man to say something.
"I guess I haven't got a choice," he said at last, looking up with a worried quirk of the lips that was desperately trying to be a smile. "Someone's got to be the voice of pessimism."
Harry grinned at him, then grabbed his lightsaber and Hermione's.
"If we are going into battle," he said evenly, as he adjusted the two devices' settings, "you'll need to be ready." Finished, he handed them their weapons. "Today's the day you fight evil as Jedi."
Ron and Hermione looked at their newly empowered weapons with apprehension, and exchanged glances. Then they nodded as one. Smiling, Harry gestured for everyone to follow him, and the little group of trainee Jedi set off.
After a while of dodging Filch the Caretaker and the various prefects out on patrol, the little group entered the forbidden corridor, as stealthily as they could. It was eerily quiet this night, almost as if the castle itself knew what was going to happen. Harry didn't like it - there was a sense of foreboding in the air.
"Not a fan of the decor," Castor quipped as they walked down the corridor, although the fact that the place was pretty unpleasant looking in a creepy, beware-ye-who-enter-here kind of way took the edge out of the boy's humour.
After a brisk walk down the corridor, they reached a door - it was locked, but Hermione used an unlocking charm which opened the door in no time…
…and also had the side effect of revealing a giant, dark brown, fierce looking three headed dog, sleeping near a trap door.
"Eep," Ron said at the sight of it - Hermione elbowed him in the stomach to shut him up, but the dog didn't react. Harry noticed a harp playing on it's own (magic, he reminded himself with a wry grin) in the corner, which seemed to be keeping the dog asleep, but the young Jedi didn't think it would be playing for long, and he didn't want to take any chances.
"Come on," he said to the others. "Down the trap door."
Using the Force, he lifted the door, and the other's jumped down one by one. Harry kept his eye on the dog, but the harp was still playing. Ron was the last to go before Harry, but the harp stopped just as the redhead jumped. Harry cursed silently, and used the Force to hold the door up - the dog was just starting to wake up when he jumped.
He fell through a ragged hole cut in plant life of some variety - something that looked like vines although he couldn't tell for certain - and landed on his back, hard. Winded, he took a moment to get back up.
Looking around slowly, he found himself on a stone floor. Hermione had her lightsaber (an azure-bladed training sabre Harry had lent her) active and out, as did Castor (who wielded the red blade he had taken from the dark assassin) and Ron (who wielded a blue training blade he had borrowed from Castor). Kara was rubbing her head – evidently she had fallen on it. She was only now taking her sabre out, and igniting the leaf green weapon. All the young Jedi were clearly more than a little edgy - as if Voldemort were simply going to pop his head out and strike.
"What is that stuff?" Harry asked, pointing at the vines above them.
"Devil's Snare," said Castor, before Hermione could respond. "There's a rhyme and everything, apparently."
"What?" Harry asked, puzzled by this.
"Devils snare," Castor repeated. "A particularly nasty plant, from the looks of it. Hermione cut through it, and freed the lot of us. And recited poetry, too," the Jedi trainee added in an undertone. Hermione glared at him but Castor shrugged.
Harry nodded, not really listening. Voldemort was up ahead, he could sense him… it felt like sickness in the Force. Worse still, he could almost hear the voice of the Dark Lord…
"Quickly fool, work it out!"
Harry figured that the 'fool' was Professor Quirrell, but work out what? What was the Dark Lord doing in Hogwarts? The question of how he could hear the words of a Dark Lord didn't occur to him.
"Come on," he said to the others, moving forward, "we've got to hurry."
The next room they entered was full of what appeared at first to be hundreds of birds - then Harry realised that actually they were flying keys (magic, Harry, he told himself). It took them only a moment to work out which key must fit the door, and Harry used the Force to locate and grab it.
The next room, however, would not be so simple. In fact, when they arrived in the room, which was filled with giant statues, it looked almost for a moment as if they were going to be faced with…
"A chessboard!" said Ron, enthused for the first time since they had set off.
"A chessboard?" repeated Castor, slightly bemused, looking at the checkered floor confusedly.
"A big chessboard," pointed out Hermione, obviously.
"That's what it is!" Ron confirmed, looking at the giant statues that must have been pieces. "A giant chessboard! This is brilliant! I'd love to have a game on this…"
"We don't have time for this," said Harry, impetuousness taking hold of him for the first time he could remember in his life – perhaps some kind of reaction to an irrational (well, maybe not that irrational) fear of Voldemort. "We've got to stop Voldemort! Follow me!"
He ran across the giant board, past the black pieces, but as he approached the other side, the white pawns drew their swords, barring the path. Undeterred, and grimly setting his jaw, Harry drew upon the Force and jumped over the row of pieces - which only made things worse, as they seemed to start moving of their own accord towards the centre of the board - and the other young Jedi. Harry heard the sound of lightsabers igniting, and turned to see how the others were doing.
Not well, was the answer.
The Chess pieces had surrounded them, weapons drawn, advancing. The Jedi had their lightsabers out, and looked as ready for action as Harry had come to expect from his friends, but they probably couldn't hold out for long. Harry's actions had apparently incited the pieces to attack. Harry, feeling guilty, felt the need to go help his friends - but then, Voldemort and whatever he was planning was up ahead. He couldn't decide!
"Go, Harry!" yelled Castor, seeing his friend torn by indecision. "We can handle these!"
Harry didn't want to leave his friends, and made to jump back, but Castor was already jumping over a bunch of pieces and slicing them up, and the others were faring well enough, jumping and cutting. It was a close run thing, but then Harry realised - he was Jedi, and he had his duty.
"I'll come back!" he yelled to the group, before running. Castor nooded, but Harry was already gone, and there were enemies to fight.
Harry ran into a dark room, with purple fire blocking his way forward – magical fire, from the looks and colour of it. He found a note that explained the puzzle – remarkably logical indeed. However, he had no time to work it out intellectually; whatever Voldemort was after, he could not be allowed to get it, and that meant Harry had to put his trust in the Force.
Harry closed his eyes, and reached out with his feelings towards the bottles, searching for an answer within the Force. After a moment, the Force 'spoke' to him, and he opened his eyes, seeking out the bottle it had said to drink from.
He drank.
For a long moment, nothing happened, and eventually, he plucked up the courage to face the fire – and walk right through it, eyes closed the whole way. Not an experience he relished, but he went forward nonetheless. When he opened his eyes, there was a door, and when he opened the door, there was a room - almost like an amphitheatre, but with no audience. At the bottom of the stairs leading to the centre of this amphitheatre stood Professor Quirrell: the erstwhile teacher was standing in front of what appeared to be an ornate mirror, apparently talking to himself.
"Face me, Voldemort!" Harry called out, his voice ringing in the amphitheatre. Quirrell turned on his heel at the sound, and looked at Harry in dismay and shock, which quickly turned to anger.
"You!" he called, obviously disconcerted by the boy's presence here at this crucial time. "How did you -?"
"None of your business, Quirrell," said Harry, allowing a form of righteous fury to enter him - he was here to do the work of Jedi. "Face me like a man, Dark Lord!" he challenged. From what he knew of possessions, he expected Quirrell to simply channel Voldemort. Instead the man continued to glare at him.
"A man?" a cold, high voice spoke, softly and yet loudly enough to fill the room. The sound of that voice recalled some of Harry's worst nightmares, dreams he had tried so very hard to forget. Quirrell's mouth stayed resolutely closed throughout. "But I am not a man, Harry Potter. You saw to that. Still, if you wish to face me, then so be it…"
Quirrell, obviously unnerved by this turn of events, and probably unnerved by the dark humour the voice possessed (Harry certainly was!) unravelled his turban slowly, eyes locked on Harry as if expecting him to make a move, and, barely understanding why, Harry looked at the mirror to see what horror would be revealed.
And it was a horror indeed.
A face was underneath the turban, protruding from Quirrell's skull like some kind of horrific mutation, though Harry had never heard of a mutation like this. The face had a slit like nose, scarlet eyes, and a expression that could quite possibly be described as a scowl. That is, if scowls had the ability to chill the souls of the people they were directed at; Harry certainly felt himself go cold at the sight.
"Harry Potter," the face said, it's voice betraying something of a wry amusement. "We meet again."
"Yes," Harry said, his training forcing his fear away, albeit with great difficulty. "Prepare to meet your end, Dark Lord."
"My end?" Voldemort's face said, with mocking laughter in his tone. "You are the one who will die here, Harry Potter, if I feel merciful."
"What are you?" Harry said in horror. He had encountered ghosts before, but they had just felt strange - this was like some terrible perversion of nature.
"Less than spirit, less than ghost, but I am alive," the Dark Lord sneered from the back of Quirrell's skull. "I survive by living in the bodies of others, a mere parasite. But soon I shall gain a new body, and the wizarding world will tremble before me again!"
He was insane. Clearly whatever had happened to him had driven him beyond reason, although Harry supposed he couldn't blame the creature - the young Jedi figured he probably couldn't have kept his sanity in such a state.
Voldemort seemed to grow thoughtful, his expression growing less harsh. "But before I destroy you, boy… tell me what you see in this mirror. Do this I promise your death will be swift…"
Harry stared at him for a moment, confused - the mirror? It was a pretty thing no doubt, but what did it have to do with what Voldemort was doing down here? It was strange. However, Harry realised that every second he could buy down here was a second that he could use to formulate a plan - Quirrell/Voldemort would be more powerful with magic than Harry, but Harry had his lightsaber, a weapon no teacher here save Dumbledore could know about and therefore not one they could counter. He hoped.
Quelling his fear, Harry nodded in assent of Voldemort's request, and then looked directly at the mirror. Nothing too remarkable happened at first, not that he expected it to - the mirror simply showed him his own reflection. Then he saw the image change. The reflection of Harry seemed to grow older before the boy's eyes, and the Jedi robes it wore became more ornate and personalised. The reflection grew a beard, and he drew and ignited a lightsaber that shone emerald green…
Two other people appeared behind him. Harry recognised them just barely as Castor and Kara. Castor had a ginger beard, and his bright ginger hair had toned down a bit. He wore darker robes than mirror-Harry, and his lightsaber, when he clicked it on, was brilliant ultramarine blue. Kara, whose face had become sharper and more refined, was shorter than the other two, and her drawn sabre was now sunshine yellow.
Harry stared at this for a moment, and realised that this mirror was showing him what he wanted to see… what he wanted to happen. What a remarkable mirror - magic was truly impressive.
"Well?" Voldemort snapped impatiently. Harry blinked, and looked at the Dark Lord's face, remembering his peril. The mirror was more than a little distracting. It was curious - clearly the Dark Wizard was expecting something from the mirror, and almost certainly something more than an image of his desires.
"I see me and my friends," he said simply, telling the truth. "We're older."
Voldemort seemed to be shocked at this revelation, though Harry didn't know why. "Of course," the Dark Wizard finally muttered. "He doesn't know about the stone."
"Then why did he come down here, Master?" asked Quirrell, obviously confused by this turn of events.
"Because I wanted to stop you," said Harry, determination filling his voice. He let himself feel the Force. He felt calm, relaxed, but in control.
"If you know nothing of the stone," Voldemort said coldly, "Then you are nothing but an irrelevancy. Kill the boy!" he added harshly to Quirrell. "He will interfere in my plans no more!"
Quirrell jumped at Harry in an instant, but Harry, a Jedi Padawan with training in the art of lightsaber combat, was ready. His lightsaber was in his hand in an instant, an as Quirrell leapt the Jedi sidestepped him and cut hid arm off as he passed, before rolling down the steps and getting to his feet, now standing between Quirrell and the mirror.
Quirrell looked at his arm in shock and horror, and turned to Harry, not quote believing what had just happened.
"How?" he said, amazed. "How did you…?"
"It matters not!" Voldemort yelled. "Kill the boy now!"
Quirrell raised his remaining arm to curse Harry, but Harry was ready; now he knew that Voldemort had no defence for the lightsaber, he ran forward and lashed out with his lightsaber at the former teacher…
Quirrell's two halves fell away from one another, and Harry stared at them in shock. He deactivated his lightsaber on reflex, and considered what he had just done - he had taken a life. It was a shame. The man had seemed nice, although there was no way of telling whether he had been forced to be Voldemort's vessel or otherwise. However, evil had to be fought, and the Jedi did not shirk from their duty.
The speed at which he had taken down the evil one surprised him a little, but he was just glad he'd survived; he had not expected to. After all, this was this universes equivalent to a Sith Lord. Monstrous evil beyond measure, beyond redemption, and powerful enough to be feared a decade after his defeat.
Harry breathed a sigh of relief at his victory, but suddenly he felt a queasy sensation in the Force, and his sigh quickly turned into a scream as what appeared to be… the spirit of Voldemort came out of the corpse of Quirrell and flew straight through him…
When he awoke, a dull ache still in his chest, his first thought was for his friends. "Castor, Kara -!" he yelled out.
"They are alright," said an old but familiar voice. "We managed to save them before any of them were seriously injured."
"Good this is," came another voice. "Brave, Castorabusallio and Kara are."
Harry sat straight up, and couldn't help but feel relief at the sight of the two figures. Master Yoda and Professor Dumbledore sat side by side on the chairs the hospital wing provided, both in Jedi robes. Madam Pomfrey was nowhere to be seen, which was probably a good thing under the circumstances.
"Master Yoda!" said Harry, a smile on his face at the sight of his old Master.
"Good it is to see you, Harry," the little green Jedi said. "You friends, safe they all are."
Hearing this, Harry was reminded about his bout of code-breaking, "I can explain about Hermione and Ron, Master, they –"
"Explained, Dumbledore has," said the venerable Jedi Master. He looked and sounded less angry than he could have done. "Talk of that in a few moments, we will. Right now, bad news I have, concerning your former mentor, Qui-Gon Jinn."
"What about Master Qui-Gon?" asked Harry, although from the grim tone in Yoda's voice and his own sinking feeling, he knew full well what the answer would be.
"Killed, he was, some time ago, by a Sith Lord," Yoda replied grimly, his ears downcast and his face glum, "on his mission to Naboo. Neither he, nor Obi-Wan Kenobi, will join you here."
Harry nodded, saddened greatly by this. But Master Qui-Gon was one with the Force now. The fact that Obi-Wan would not be joining him here was something of a blow though.
"Why can't Obi-Wan join me?" he asked, confused.
"A Padawan, he has taken," Yoda said, tapping Harry with his gimer stick. "An important task this is to any Jedi Knight. Be happy for him, you should."
"I am, Master," Harry assured him. And he was, as well; Obi-Wan was a wise Jedi. Harry was certain whoever his Padawan was, they would benefit greatly from that wisdom. Yoda shifted slightly in his seat, frowning somewhat.
"Told me, Dumbledore has, of your duel with two Dark Jedi," continued Yoda, leaning forward slightly. "And of the death of Master Araphis."
Harry bowed his head, and Yoda sighed. "Many Jedi, lost have been, and more will be in future," the diminuitive Master told Harry. "One with the Force, Master Araphis is. More important now is that survived, you and your friends did. Brave you were… as were the children Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley."
"Master," Harry began, but Yoda tapped his stick on the chair and cut him off.
"A clear breach of the code this action is," Yoda said, his expression grim. "Raised by the code you were. To see you disregard it, troublesome it is. Care about the code, you should, always. And yet, care you did not show, when training of these two young ones you began." The venerable Master never raised his voice as he admonished the young Jedi, which made it all the worse to hear.
Harry looked at Dumbledore, whose face remained impassive, then back to Yoda, who caught the look. He looked up at Dumbledore, and then smiled.
"Decided I have, that the two children are to be trained, as you intended them to be," he said, which surprised Harry to no end. "Concerned am I about your actions, but no matter. Too far into their training, they are. Abandon them now, and the dark side, fester in them it may."
Harry nodded, accepting the old Master's judgement. Yoda smiled then.
"Besides, poor reward for aiding you, it would be, to stop now," Yoda said. "Trained they will be."
A moment passed, where Harry looked from Dumbledore to Yoda, then back to Dumbledore.
"Master," Harry said to the old Headmaster, "have you...?"
"Told me he has, about his training of more Jedi," Yoda said, neutrally. A moment of silence passed.
"And?" Harry asked, bewildered that more admonishments about the code were not immediately forthcoming.
"A feeling I have," the little green Jedi said slowly, "that serve the Jedi here the system from Coruscant will not." He exchanged glances with Dumbledore, who smirked ever so slightly. "A new system the Jedi Order must adopt here, if to grow it is. A system like the one that created, Jedi Master Dumbledore has."
"You mean you aren't stopping the Jedi training here?" Harry said, almost not daring to believe it.
"Too staid the Jedi have become," Yoda said, his face oddly serious considering the good news he was delivering. "Sense I do a great darkness - the death of Qui-Gon, only the beginning it is. If to survive the Jedi are, needed will this new Jedi Academy be. Rely upon you to learn well, I do, Padawan Potter."
Harry bowed his head respectfully. "I swear it Master."
"The others you have begun training, and the younglings Voraainsar and Vincennes, continue their training in Dumbledore's academy they will," Yoda said. Harry felt a twinge - he had begun their training. Surely he should end it? But Yoda once again poked him with the gimer stick. "Too young you are to train others, when there is much learning you must still do!"
"I understand, Master," Harry said with a nod. "Are we coming back home this summer?" he added with some curiosity. "Me, Castor and Kara, that is?"
"No," said Yoda, smiling softly. "Stay here and test Dumbledore's skills as a teacher in the ways of the Force, you will." The little green Master smiled slightly mischievously. "Put you up, Dumbledore will, or so he has said."
Harry looked to Dumbledore, who was smiling as well.
"I hope you don't mind staying in school, Harry," said Dumbledore softly.
"Mind?" said Harry, grinning. "I'd love to!"
Dumbledore smiled at him, radiantly.
"There is no need for you to pack up your things then," he said. "See you at the leaving feast."
"Good luck I wish you, Harry," Yoda said to him, and then he too hobbled out.
Harry sat back in his bed, and grinned. Whatever he had thought before, he was now one of the most content Jedi in existence.
In another universe, on the planet Coruscant, on the balcony of one of millions of buildings on this planet, Darth Sidious planned and plotted, with his newest apprentice Darth Tyranus - otherwise known as Count Dooku of Serenno. Dooku had been a Jedi knight, and a Master, but he had grown disillusioned with the order, especially after the death of Qui-Gon Jinn, and had eventually decided to leave. He had toyed with finding Sidious, and killing him, but instead, Sidious found him, and convinced him that they were not that different after all.
Sidious had sensed the beginning of the training of Harry Potter's friends from the school "Hogwarts". He had in fact sensed all of the trainee's beginnings, but felt a certain pain would be caused if he turned one of the two the Jedi Youngling was close to. And, as he kept remembering, having multiple plans in action was always a good sign. Besides, weakening the nascent Jedi offshoot in that universe before it became a real problem would definitely help his later "wipe out all the Jedi" plans.
The Sith had decided, after remote probing their minds, that of the two young ones from that world closest to Potter, that the best choice to be turned to the Dark Side was Hermione Granger. He had been surprised by this: the Weasley boy was wilful, headstrong, and had a large amount of insecurity regarding his abilities and role in life, all things which would make him an adequate - almost too easy - choice. The trouble being that he was still loyal to his friends to a great degree, and though there was anger there, he also possessed a changeable nature, and great (or greatly sickening) purity of heart. His turning would, in short, be difficult, dangerous, and possibly not even permanent should it succeed, since the boy was also possesed of that worst enemy of the Dark Side - guilt. The boy reeked of it every time he made a decision that could turn him to the Dark Side.
Hermione Granger, on the other hand, while loyal to a great degree as well, was also a keen seeker of knowledge, and she had something of an arrogant streak, as well as a frustration with those that she considered of inferior intellect. All of this, if turned to the right purpose, nurtured and grown into a true hatred of the weak, could make her a powerful Sith. Knowledge was power, and power was the sole motivation of a Sith Lord's life. Her turning would be slow, it would be difficult, it would be arduous. She would have to be shown knowledge, and it would take torture and cruelty and hatred to make her into anything resembling the sort of apprentice Sidious could use - but he liked a challenge, and once turned, she would never go back.
"My Master, what are your orders?" Tyranus asked, bowing in obeisance. Sidious mulled for a moment, confirming in his head that he had chosen wisely. The Darkness told him yes.
"I need you to bring me the girl Hermione Granger," the Sith Lord said in a sibilant whisper. "She will be a great asset."
"I shall set off immediately, my Master," said Tyranus with a bow, and Count Dooku of Serenno swept through the door, back into the building, leaving his Master alone. Sidious smiled as Tyranus left. Through power he would gain victory, as the Sith code said. Victory would soon be his, he sensed. Even if Tyranus failed, Sidious always had a backup. One way or another, he would succeed.